Every Word Tells A Story
by mercscilla
Summary: Drabbles written for various prompts in LJ's Friday's One Word Fic Challenge. Each chapter contains a fill for a prompt. Note the rating in the chapter titles.
1. Wind PG13

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Wind  
><strong>Fill for: <strong>bellakitse  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 696  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Friendship with hints of romance  
><strong>Summary:<strong> What happened when Wash stepped out of the portal in 2142.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompt Wind in LJ's Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 1. No spoilers.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>The first thing Alicia becomes aware of, is the wind. It's wild, untamed, brings with it the smell of life, freedom, everything the future no longer holds. Here in the past, 85 million years away from war, pollution and death, she can feel her body and soul finally starting to heal.<p>

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and turns her face upwards, right into the strong breeze and when it brushes across her skin, her lips soften into a small smile, the first real one in months (years).

For a few minutes she simply stands there and enjoys Mother Nature but then the wind carries another scent towards her, powerful and spicy with a hint of gun powder underneath, and her smile widens. There is only one person who smells like that and Wash keeps her eyes closed as she tilts her head in his direction.

"Commander."

The sound that escapes him sounds more animal than human, his voice hoarse as if he hasn't used it in quite some time and her eyes snap open, finding him right away even though he's hidden among the green vegetation lining the small clearing. Silver eyes stare at her, a maelstrom of emotions swirling in his gaze, and her skin starts to tingle uncomfortable as the silence following her word stretches on and on, her smile fading slowly. When she can't take it anymore and takes a step in his direction, Taylor springs into action, and in the blink of an eye he's in front of her, invading her personal space.

Alicia has barely time to register his appearance (torn clothes, dirt smeared across his face and limps, scrubby hair and beard) before he gently but firmly cups her face in his rough yet tender hands.

"You're real," Taylor murmurs huskily, sounding surprised and relieved at the same time as he runs his thumbs over her temple, the other along her bottom lip. His eyes slip close as he rests his forehead against hers, his hands sliding into her hair, fingers tangling in her tresses. "I thought my mind was playing tricks on me again. Every day I detected your scent in the wind but when I turned around, it had always been just my imagination."

His words confuse her even more, a thousand questions flickering across her mind, and she tries to put together the puzzle that presents her but when he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his tense yet warm body, hands gripping her tightly, she knows that those questions can wait. Right now he needs her, needs the physical proof that she is really here, with him.

Slowly, his muscles relax until he's more hugging her than clinging to her but Alicia still makes no attempt to pull free and so Taylor nuzzles her behind her ear, his beard tickling the sensitive patch of skin there, causing her to shiver.

"Wash?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You smell nice."

This comes unexpected and she cannot help but laugh at his words, turning her head to smirk at him. "You don't."

And at his mock glare, she adds, "Sir."

The first thing Guzman hears, as he walks through the portal a good while later, are laughter and the sound of splashing coming from beyond a line of trees to his left. He follows the sounds and finds his commanding officer, who could give a caveman a run for his money, sitting on a few rocks close to a small stream, with Wash standing behind him, carefully washing and trimming his wild hair and beard.

Guzman leaves silently, letting them have this moment of happiness, instinctively knowing it will probably be the last for a long time, and when the others of their team arrive, he tells them to wait at the portal until the Commander and Lieutenant return, staring anyone down who dares to object.

When Taylor and Wash do return, he looking a little less wild, she having a little more dirt on her clothes and face than she did in 2142, Guzman gives them a short nod and receives two brilliant smiles in return.


	2. Linger PG15

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Linger  
><strong>Fill for:<strong> bellakitse  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 407  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Suddenly Taylor's behavior starts to make sense to Wash.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompt Linger in the Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 1. No spoilers.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>Alicia cannot pinpoint the exact moment he started it but she will forever remember the day she finally notices something was going on that had nothing to do with them as commander and subordinate but everything as man and woman. It's the first time in over a decade she actually <em>blushes<em>, no matter how hard she tries to suppress her body's reaction, and she will never forget the sensation of skin on skin, calloused fingers sliding along her waist before slipping underneath her shirt, lingering for just a split second but long enough to send her mind reeling.

In that moment she realizes that Taylor has slowly but surely stepped up their physical contact in recent weeks, from a feather-light caress when he handed her a plexpad to a probing yet gentle touch when her OTG missions ended with cuts and bruises for her to standing much closer than regulation dictated, so close his bare arms brushed hers and sent a shiver down her spine. He hasn't even tried to be subtle about it, hasn't shown a care in the world who saw their encounters.

Here now, in the Command Center, with Taylor moving behind her, his hand leaving a trail of fire in its wake before settling low on her hip as he leans over her shoulder to take a look at the data displayed in front of them, Alicia feels her cheeks flare, blood thundering in her ears, the tiny hairs on her nape raising as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin there. The dual sensation sizzles along her nerves and the shudder running through her body doesn't go unnoticed by Taylor.

He reaches around her, shuts down the head display and suddenly the only sound in the room is their heavy breathing as the two of them seem to be frozen in time. Slowly, as if not to scare her, he places his hand on the table, palm up, an offer, a plea, a hopeful gesture, and she understands now that he's been testing the waters, analyzing her reactions, trying (and hoping) to find hints that she feels the same way about him. Without hesitation she relaxes back into him and entwines their fingers, soft skin gliding against rough, and when the tension leaves his body in a rush as he wraps his arm around her to pull her even closer, she knows this day is going to be her most treasured memory.


	3. Caravan PG13

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Caravan  
><strong>Fill for:<strong> crystalkei  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 741  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Friendship/Romance (tiny blip of BAMF kids)  
><strong>Summary:<strong> What could have happened if Taylor and Wash were the only two who made it through the portal in 2142.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompt Caravan in the Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 1. No spoilers.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>No one is coming after them and no one ever will. The portal collapses, closes forever, and it is just them, Commander and Lieutenant, a pilgrimage of two. They have nothing but the packs on their backs and two guns though they soon learn that bullets are useless in this new (old) world.<p>

They decide to scout the area around the gate for anything valuable before moving onto higher ground. The picture that presents them is breathtaking, a lush, with life overflowing valley, surrounded by hills and waterfalls, a perfect place to build Terra Nova.

Alicia sighs as she realizes that except for them, the others will never see this, they are going to be stuck forever in the future. A hand gently clasps her shoulder and as she tilts her head to look at Taylor, he gives her a small but sad smile.

"C'mon, Wash, let's go."

And so their journey begins.

They wander through the valley until they reach one of the waterfalls, stay there for a few days before moving towards the hills and forest, spend their days walking and their nights high up in the trees. Soon the jungle gives way to a desert, the badlands as Taylor jokes, but it's not far from the truth. A few times they nearly don't make it and once it takes sixty-seven stitches to patch him up. The coastline is much friendlier, open and less hostile, a good place to restock their supplies and when they find out that those ugly red fish actually taste delicious and even better dried, their food problem is no longer an issue.

For months they travel through different territories, taking their time, no one's there to tell them otherwise, exploring and enjoying what this new world has to offer and even if the local wildlife is a pain in the ass sometimes, neither of them wants to go back to 2142.

It's in the middle of their sixth month when Taylor asks her what she thinks about settling down. It's a warm evening, even for what in this time counts as autumn, and they haven't had an encounter with any dinosaurs in a week, so they are quite relaxed and even though his questions surprises her, Alicia can see his point. Trekking through this world forever is not a way to live and some day (sooner if her Commander's question is any indication) they will have to find a place to set up home.

"To be honest, sir, I wouldn't mind it." She looks out across the high plain, the last rays of sunlight bathing it in shades of orange and gold. "Weird as it may sound, the last few months have been the best of my life but I think you're right."

"They were mine too."

She turns back to him, clearly confused by his words. "Sir?"

"'Best of my life'. They were the best months of my life too, Wash." He slowly reaches out and takes her hand in his, calloused skin gliding against soft one, and at the contact her mind flashes back to all those moments he has done something like this since they've been stranded here, running his hands frantically over her body after she had been attacked by a Nyko, brushing her sweat-soaked hair out of her face when she had been struck by high fever, holding her close after they jumped off that waterfall to avoid becoming a Carnotaurus dessert.

He's been touching her more frequently in recent weeks, all innocent touches of course, and yet they have made her heart beat faster. Just like now. Alicia knows what the regulations say about this kind of behavior but there is no army, no court martial waiting around the next tree, and so she does what her heart tells her, gently squeezing his hand in return, and that's all Taylor needs.

The next morning they go back to the valley the discovered the first day and start building _their_Terra Nova. It takes time and hard work, sometimes they want to give up but then the other is there and pulls them out of their misery with a simple touch or kiss, sometimes they think about what could have been, think about the people they've left behind, but then their own people, their children, demand their attention and they forget about the future.

They have their own future to think about now.


	4. Knife NC17

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Knife  
><strong>Fill for:<strong> violetvision78  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 667  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Blood play/Romance  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Their sparring starts harmless but they have always liked to dance on the edge.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompt Knife in the Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 1. Spoilers for Season One.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>It's an early Saturday morning, predawn is slowly making its way over the hills, bathing the training ground and the two figures in shades of red and gold, his and her shadow merging and parting with the other's like ocean waves.<p>

This is the first time in years they are sparring with each other, attacking, blocking, feinting – it's an old dance and yet they have changed, learned new moves, adapted old ones, making their match that much more interesting and formidable.

They're taking their time, Terra Nova is still slumbering, no one's going to come looking for them before the first bell, not now that the Sixers, the Phoenix Group and 2149 are gone. Finally they can enjoy the moment and that's exactly what they do. Maybe a little too much.

It is him that proposes to add knifes to their competition, a glint in his eyes, knowing that Wash has never been one to back down from a challenge. She doesn't disappoint and, with a quirk of her lips, pulls her knife out, her eyes shining with a light Taylor hasn't seen in years.

If someone was there to see them now, they would say they never saw something so beautiful and yet deadly. Neither of them is holding back, she strikes and he feels the heat of the the blade as it misses his chest by mere inches. He narrows his eyes at her and counters her move quickly, quicker than Wash expected if the widening of her eyes are any indication as he lunges at her with full speed. Crashing into her hard, he catches her as she stumbles back and then flips them around, her back to the the wooden pillar, his own blade lightly pressed against her throat.

They are both panting harshly, locked in a battle of wills as they stare at each other and he slides his leg between hers to prevent her from moving away. It earns him a death glare followed by a slight tab on his inner thigh and when he looks down, he smirks, not surprised to see her knife resting there.

Normally, they would both drop their weapons, now that their fight is over, neither the winner but just as Taylor is about to remove his knife, Wash takes a deep breath and the blade scrapes along her skin, leaving tiny droplets of blood in its wake.

"Damn, Wash, I'm-" he starts to apologize, almost jerking the knife away from her throat but her hand is faster, fingers closing around his wrist in a strong grip, keeping him in place. "Don't."

Something flashes in her eyes, a different hunger than the one for a good match, a feeling Taylor himself knows only too well. It's their dark side, hidden in the furthest corner of their soul, and in the years since they've been here, it has only come out once or twice to bring their enemies to their knees but it has never risen between them.

It is part of them and damn him, if it doesn't send a thrill through him as he watches Wash moaning as she arches into his body _and_the blade, causing it to dig deeper into her soft skin. Her eyes burn a bright amber in the morning sun, setting him on fire, and with a low growl he takes a step forward, deliberately bringing her knife in direct contact with his groin, bending his head to lick at the thin lines of red running down her throat.

Pain and pleasure blur together, a gash here, a nick there, her nails digging into his back, drawing more blood, his hands gripping her hips tightly, leaving shadows of finger-bruises, her hot lips, smeared with blood, kissing their way down his naked chest, sucking at each cut until he's hard as granite, his teeth biting at her collarbone, her breast, her thigh, marking her until she's screaming her release.

They have always liked to dance on the edge.


	5. Hope PG13

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Hope  
><strong>Fill for:<strong> sky_kiss  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 616  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance/Angst  
><strong>Summary:<strong> There is nothing left for Taylor, not after he lost the one person that matters the most to him. Or so he thinks.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompt Hope in the Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 1. Spoilers for the Season One finale.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>Up until to this moment, he still has hope left that everything will turn out for the best, thinks that Wash will make it out with the others, believes that together, he and her, will bring the Phoenix Group down, stop his son and save Terra Nova.<p>

But when Taylor has to watch helplessly as his own flesh and blood shoots the one person that matters most to him, all of his dreams shatter into a million pieces. On the way back to the camp, he can feel Shannon's eyes on him but he refuses to acknowledge him or anything else, leaves the rover as soon as they arrive and seeks refuge in his memories.

The following day he almost seems like the old Taylor and only Wash could have told the difference, could have seen that he is not. He leads his people but not to victory. Of course, they blow up the portal (Wash's idea, not his) but that's it. Victory would have meant to attack the mercenaries, to take back Terra Nova by force, with Wash by his side.

This now however, sitting in the middle of the night around a pitiful campfire, without a plan (Wash would have know what to do), the wound he has to thank his son for throbbing painfully but hurting not as much as his heart and soul, that is no victory. That is nothing.

Taylor stares into the darkness beyond the forest but his eyes see nothing. He's lost in the past, in another forest, another time, when Wash had to stitch him up with sixty-seven stitches and scolded him the whole time that next time, he could do it alone. He had laughed and told her that she should just admit that she loved to use him as a pincushion. His hand covers the new wound and he gives a humorless laugh. _"Looks like you were right, Wash."_

He is called back to reality by Dunham, who hands him the radio, telling him that Boylan is calling from the colony with news.

"What is it, Boylan?"

_It's good to hear ya too, Commander._

"Boylan."

_Aye. Interesting thing happened. The Phoenix Group and the Sixers just left Terra Nova._

"What?"

_Ya heard right. They are gone. All of them. Except Carter. He and I had to keep a secret alive and well, since he's a medic and the good doctor is with you, he volunteered to stay._

"Boylan, what the hell are you talking about?"

_Hello, Commander._

No, it can't be. "Wash?" He feels like the ground is opening up beneath him, free fall that's not ending any time soon because

"I saw you die."

_It was a close call. I am sorry to say it, sir, but your son is a lousy shot._

Before she has even finished, Taylor's already up and running towards the rovers, ignoring the flash of pain in his side, the radio gripped in his hand, asking, no ordering Wash to talk to him.

And she does. The whole way back to the colony, she talks, about everything and nothing, but he doesn't care because she is _alive_, and once they've made it past the gate, he springs out of the rover, stumbles to Boylan's, down the stairs and when his eyes find hers across the room, the radio falls from his suddenly lifeless fingers.

He drinks in the sight of her, bruised and battered but smiling at him, and with less than two steps he's in front of her, hands reaching for her and she melts into his arms as soon as he has wrapped his own around her.

They are finally home again.


	6. Touch R

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Touch  
><strong>Fill for:<strong> sky_kiss  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 728  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15/R-ish  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance/Angst (with big, green blip of BAMF kid)  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Things like that do not happen to her but the little green dot (looking positively smug) does not lie and of course it's the fault of a virus.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompt Hope in the Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 1. No spoilers.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>Alicia glares at the little green dot on the head display as it bobs up and down, and she swears it looks positively smug. Blinking once, twice but that doesn't make it go away and with a heavy sigh, she turns to Elisabeth.<p>

"Come again?"

The doctor gives her a sympathetic smile before she shuts down the display and holds up a plexpad for Alicia to see. "You are pregnant, approximately three weeks. I run the test twice to make sure, that's why it took so long. The fetus is in good health and if it weren't for your nausea, we wouldn't have detected it. You next exam wasn't scheduled for another month."

Sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the cot, Alicia makes sure no one is in close range before she leans towards the doctor. "Doc, I _can't_be pregnant. One, I had my shots, just like everyone else here. Two, I didn't even had sex in years."

"We both know that it's not true. The shots failed because of the virus and for the second part of your statement..." Elisabeth sets down the pad, picks up another one and when Alicia realizes what it shows, she feels the color drain out of her face, leaving her lightheaded. With her last bit of strength, she snatches the pad from Elisabeth's hand and places it under her jacket, careful not to look at it too closely.

"Where did you get that?" She hisses at the doctor but Elisabeth knows exactly what the Lieutenant is going through at the moment and so she doesn't feel offended at her aggressive tone.

"It's a recording from that day, the scene that took place between you and the Commander in the Command Center, right after his return from OTG. You were the first that came in contact with him, and then, after your men brought you two to the hospital, you spread the infection uncontrollable because we had no idea what had happened."

The light of the display shimmers through the garment and Alicia stops listening to Elisabeth. Slowly, she pulls the pad from underneath her jacket and looks at the mute recording, her mind adding the soundtrack, every word, every sigh, every moan. It's something she will never forget. Just like she won't forget the feeling of his warm hands, his calloused fingers trailing across her skin, then gripping her hip and neck to keep her in place, his bare chest pressed against her naked back, moving against her, with her, within her.

Alicia closes her eyes as the memories come faster and faster, a flash of his mouth on her throat, leaving a mark, his mark there, another of his tongue following an invisible path down her body, and again one of his silver eyes, setting her on fire as he hungrily stares at her. She doesn't notice Elisabeth leaving her alone, neither does she hear the quiet steps coming closer, the man in question stopping right next to her, watching her and the emotions on her face, not the pad. He has already seen it.

They haven't talked about the incident and their friendship has begun to suffer under the strain of pretending nothing has happened. Taylor can't go on like that and when Elisabeth had called him to the hospital and had shown him _his_ child, he had known it was time. If he has to, he will fight Wash, will make her see that the virus was the best thing that could have ever happen to them. It brought forth feelings that already had been there, only they had been buried underneath rules and control. Without those boundaries, they had been free to feel, to touch, to _love_each other. He wants that again, wants her, wants to have a life, a child, with her.

"She will be beautiful. Just like her mother," Taylor tells her softly, gently switching the pad with the one of the green dot. Wash's eyes snap open, shock, surprise, embarrassment and, if he's not mistaken, hope, written in them as she stares at him, fingers flexing against his as they hold the pad between them. Hesitantly, her lips lift at the corners, and when she links her fingers with his, he knows, without a doubt, everything is going to be alright.


	7. Red R

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Red  
><strong>Fill for:<strong> bellakitse  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 858  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance/Drama  
><strong>Summary:<strong> He is going to do whatever it takes to keep her alive. He is not going to let her die.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompt Red in the Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 1. No spoilers.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>There is blood, so much blood, too much and he can't stop it. They are five clicks south from the next outpost and while Taylor knows Shannon is coming with his wife, he fears they won't make it in time. Wash is loosing it fast, life is draining out of her, and his hands do a lousy job of keeping her wound closed.<p>

"Don't you dare die on me, Wash. Do you hear me? Wash!" He presses down on the deep gash but his hands are too slick from her blood, and they slip away again and again, and every time a new wave of dark red gushes out.

She moans weakly, eyelids fluttering, pain and anguish etched into her features, but she's not giving up, fights to stay conscious, and he can see how much it costs her to open her eyes, amber orbs glassy but still his Wash. His fatigues are already soaked through with her blood but he still wipes one of his hands on them (it won't make a difference, not anymore) before he reaches for her pack and literally dumps its content on the ground.

"C'mon, Wash, what can I do?" It is only the second time since they have met all those years ago that she is the one wounded (he refuses to think dying) and just like back in 2138, he feels helpless, doesn't know what to do, can only watch as she is growing paler and paler.

"Wash!" Shaking her gently but firmly, he leans down to her, gives her no choice but to look directly at him. "Tell me what to do, Lieutenant." It's an order, delivered in his most commanding voice, his silver eyes blazing, and Wash jerks beneath him, her gaze finally focusing on him, the fire he is so used to see shining in them faint but still there.

"The yel...low syring..." Her hand twitches as if she wants to search for the syringe herself but Taylor closes his hand around hers, stilling it mid-movement, squeezing it gently. Her skin is cold, so cold, and in his mind he hears a clock ticking, counting down.

There is a stinging in his eyes but he won't let the tears fall. Instead he concentrates on the items next to him, curses as he discovers a blue syringe but not the damn yellow one but then breathes a sigh of relief as he finally finds what he's been looking for. Using his teeth to pull off the cap, he brushes aside the remains of Wash's tank top and plunges the needle into her flesh, injecting the whole dose of the drug into her body in one shot.

Her back bows as she screams, it tears through the silence and his heart but he knows it had to be done. Anything to keep her alive until Shannon arrives, even if it means he's causing her more pain. Over and over he whispers "I'm sorry" as he holds her shuddering body close, face hidden in her sweat-soaked hair, listens to Wash's gasps for air and wishes that it was him lying there, not her.

This is how Jim finds them when he, his wife and another transporter arrive at the clearing. Taylor sits with his back to a tree, his whole body literally wrapped around Wash's small form, her head resting on his shoulder, his lips pressed against her temple, their linked hands covering her side. Jim sucks in a deep breath as he catches a glimpse of Wash's wound, edges ragged and torn, and as he steps closer, Taylor's head snaps up, fixing him with a hard, unyielding stare. The cop in Jim sees what lies beneath the cold mask, a haunted, broken man who is not willingly to let the woman he loves go.

"She will not die." And Jim believes him. If there is one person who dares telling death to back the hell off, it is Taylor. Jim watches as his wife gets to work and pumps another dose of drugs into Wash's bloodstream, winces as Elisabeth starts to clean the wound, balls his fist, welcomes the piercing sensation as his nails dig into his palms, because having to listen to Wash's moans of pain, not being able to help her, that is pure torture.

Through all of this, Taylor remains right beside his Lieutenant, lends her his strength as the needle enters her body again and again, carefully brushes her hair out of her face, fingers lingering on her cheek, as Wash flinches with every stitch. He's murmuring to her, barely audible, and Jim has to strain his ears to understand what Taylor's saying.

"I'm not going to let you go, Wash. Never again. When you're back on your feet, you and I are going to talk."

Suddenly, Jim feels like an intruder, this is far more personal and intimate than anything he has ever witnessed between these two, and so he turns around but just before he's out of hearing range, he picks up four words, spoken quietly but still sounding powerful.

"I love you, Alicia."


	8. Boots R

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Boots  
><strong>Fill for:<strong> bellakitse  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 778  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance/Humor  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Black painted toenails with silver glitter are his downfall.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompt Boots in the Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 1. Spoilers for the Season One finale.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>Wash has always been Wash to him, one of the boys, his most trusted friend, fierce and loyal, his best soldier, tough as nails and a badass.<p>

He has never seen her as a _woman_, there has never been a moment which could have changed that, not in the years preceding Terra Nova (you don't go to war in a dress and high heels) nor here in the colony itself (you don't fight Sixers in a skirt and sandals). If Taylor is honest with himself, he locked away any thoughts about Wash as _Alicia _in a box with seven seals as soon as they entered his mind. He values her friendship, her trust, too much to let something like his feelings come between them, he's old and broken while she's still young, shining bright, and he's content to see her every day as her commanding officer rather than seeing her not at all.

This time however, the box seems to have a mind of its own, pulling him in rather than closing him off of his less than pure thoughts, as he stares at his Lieutenant, sitting with little Leah Marcos on the porch of her housing unit. He had been on his nightly walk around the colony, his last stop as always Wash's place and like every night, she was waiting for him. It started after her return from the dead and it is the one thing he cannot, does not want to put in that box, he needs it too much, even though he won't look too closely at the reasons _why _he needs it.

"Sir?"

His eyes snap up to hers, silver meeting amber, and the humorous twinkle in her gaze is unmistakeable.

"What are you doing?" He finally manages to choke out, his mind trying and failing to comprehend what it is that he's seeing in front of him.

"We are painting our toenails," Leah tells him proudly, wriggling her toes at Taylor, while carefully applying black nail polish to Wash's before sprinkling something sparkly on the still wet paint.

"Why?"

Leah gives him a look that clearly says that he should know why but since he is the Commander, she is willingly to make an exception and explain it to him.

"Now the enemy will really see stars when Alicia kicks them with her feet." The grin Wash and Leah share would scare even the most hardened soldiers but Taylor is too busy thinking about the fact that _other_ men are going to see Wash's feet (dark jealousy flares hot) and that the damn box in his mind is practically overflowing with images of Wash _as a woman_.

And so Taylor takes the cowardly way out and hightails out of the situation as fast as possible. Back in his own living quarters, he tries to collect himself, put back on the mask, but every time he thinks he's back in control of his thoughts and feelings, his mind flashes back to Wash's naked feet, her toenails painted black with silver glitter, shimmering in the moonlight and his fingers itch to reach out and touch her feet, touch her.

The worst thing is, it doesn't make her look fragile or weak, no, it makes her look even more fierce, adds to her persona another level of toughness.

This night Taylor barely sleeps, his dreams are filled with her, them, bodies moving against each other, with each other, hands clutching at broad shoulders, hands tangling in long, black hair, and more than once he jerks awake with her name on his lips.

The following morning he tells himself that it was a one time thing, it won't happen again because Wash is going to wear her boots and he won't see her feet. He is wrong.

The moment she steps into his office, his gaze fixes on her footwear and he is lost, drowning in his dreams, his hand, covered in fingerless gloves, gently running along her feet, over her toes, toenails painted black with silver stars, up her leg, his mouth following the invisible path he traces with his fingertips.

It is Wash's gasp that brings him back to reality and he realizes that his face had shown everything that he feels, his hunger, his desire, his _love_for her. For a moment they are frozen in time, neither of them moves, but then Wash slowly closes the doors and Taylor knows that he won't need that box any longer.

His fingers curve around her wrist as he tugs her into his body, his hot breath ghosting over her skin as he leans down.

"Pull off the boots."


	9. Coms PG13

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Coms  
><strong>Fill for:<strong> bellakitse  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1286  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance/Angst  
><strong>Summary:<strong> If the com hadn't been on when she confessed her feelings, he wouldn't be sitting there.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompt Coms in the Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 2. No spoilers.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>It's already dark outside as Alicia makes her way home and when she is almost at her housing unit, she thinks, for a fleeting moment, that she successfully avoided him for today but then she spies his outline, barely visible against the low light, sitting on the steps leading to her front door, and she cannot shake off the nagging feeling that he's been just humoring her, letting her believe she had outsmarted him.<p>

She dreads what's coming next, the conversation (confrontation) that he is going to have with her because she knows Taylor and he will not let go until he has got what he came for. He will open her up, make her spill all her secrets, confess everything she feels, until all that is left of her is the woman.

Squaring her shoulders, she holds her head high, her gaze fixed on her door, and slowly keeps walking. Just a few more steps and she is home, can hide behind the walls, try to pull herself back together for tomorrow, and every day after that because she will not talk about _it_.

"Were you ever going to tell me, Wash?" Taylor sounds hoarse, tired, _hurt_, and it tugs at her heart but she cannot (will not) yield to him. It gives her some kind of courage not being able to see his face and observe his reaction.

Brushing past him, she almost expects him to stop her physically but he lets her pass without touching her. "There is nothing to talk about, sir." Behind her she hears him standing up and she curses her luck for forgetting in which pocket she put her keys this morning.

"So, you were never going to tell me." This time his voice is laced with accusation and bitterness. Alicia dares glancing over her right shoulder, only to find him leaning against the pillar, face masked by shadows, but she feels his burning gaze on her and it sends shivers down her spine.

"It would be better you forget what you heard last night. Then we all can move on." Her words call forth a hazy memory of the night before and she hates her weak mind.

_"Why don't you move on, Alicia?" Elisabeth's question makes her stop mid-movement and she sets down her drink, staring at the amber liquid pooling at the bottom of the glass rather than meeting her friend's eyes._

_"I can't. I- It is difficult." Difficult doesn't even begin to describe the situation she is in but the woman next to her has no problems reading between the lines._

_"You don't 'just like' him," Elisabeth says softly. "You love him." To hear the word spoken out loud that is practically engraved on her heart makes Alicia close her eyes in despair._

_"I do," she admits with a humorless laugh. "I've been so long in love with my commanding officer that I can't even remember what it feels like not to love him." Her eyes slowly open and when she lifts them to Elisabeth's, she looks like a woman lost. "I can't move on, Elisabeth, even though I know he will never return my feelings, I just can't."_

_In that moment Alicia sees her com, sitting innocently next to the bottle of Scotch, blinking in a steady rhythm, signaling that a link is open. They don't have to wait long for the person on the other end to make themselves known._

_"Wash. We have to talk."_

The words echo not only in her mind but in the present as well, quietly spoken by the man in question once more. She gives up searching for her keys and rests her forehead against the door, eyes shut tightly, trying to block him out but it's no use, his presence wraps around her as he takes a step forward, then another, and the heat he's emitting makes her body tremble.

"Please," she is reduced to pleading, begging him to let it go. "Please, just forget it." Her hands, placed on either side of her face, curl into fists, short nails biting into her palms, the pain reminding her that he is not hers. The warmth and comfort of his body tempt her and she fights the urge, the need to reach out for him.

"What, if I don't want to forget?" He is close, too close, his breath stirring her hair, and goosebumps riot over her body in response. "What, if I don't want to forget that you lo-"

"You have to," she whispers brokenly. For a heartbeat it seems as if there is a divide, deep and wide, between them, despite their bodies almost touching, and Alicia tenses up, waiting for Taylor to finally leave, to break her heart for once and all.

What comes, however, is the complete opposite. He closes his warm fingers around her right wrist and spins her into his body in a swift move. With gentle but firm hands he pins her back against the door and invades what little personal space she has left until her chest is pressed against his. At the unexpected turn of events her pulse quickens and her hands rise to grip the leather straps of his gun holster though she isn't sure if it is to push him away or drag him closer.

He gives her no time to decide, instead one of his hand tangles in her hair to pull her head back, leaving her no other choice but to look at him, while the other settles low on her waist, fingers sliding beneath the hem of her jacket and tank top, leaving a trail of fire on her skin as they brush across it and her back arches of its own volition. Something intense flashes in his eyes as he watches her reaction and when he leans down, his earthy scent enveloping her, she feels another piece of her hard-earned self-control break away.

"I will not. Neither will you. And if I have to remind you every day of what you've said, so be it," he almost growls, his hands tightening their hold on her. "I will not forget that the woman _I_ love, found it in her to love this old, worn out shell of a man."

Alicia stares up at him, her mind and heart warring inside her, not believing what she hears and yet daring to hope. She licks her sudden dry lips and with a barely suppressed groan, Taylor covers her mouth with his in a bruising kiss that steals the air from her, teeth nipping at her bottom lip and desire flares hot between them. She moans into his mouth, her hands wrapping around his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders, and their kiss turns dark with longing and need. His lips feather along her cheek, down her throat to suck at the soft spot where her neck meets her shoulder and her breath hitches as her body throbs with blazing arousal.

Abruptly, the solid weight of the door at her back disappears and she dimly wonders how he managed to focus long enough to find her keys and then unlock the door, when all she can do is drown in his arms, his kiss, _him_ but then the thought scatters as his lips seek out hers again and his hands start to divest her of her jacket.

Taylor slowly walks her backwards into her darkened house and just before the door closes behind their entwined figures, Alicia catches the look in his eyes. It is the same she knows she wears every time she thinks of him.

It is love.


	10. Battlefield PG13

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Battlefield  
><strong>Fill for:<strong> zapf_chancery  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1155  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Pre-series. In the trenches they meet for the first time, Taylor's bleeding all over the place and Doc entrusts Corporal Wash with his life.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompt Battlefield in the Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 2. Spoilers for the Season One finale.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>Taylor doesn't know whether he should feel relieved or be scared of the look on Doc's face as he spies the young medic stumbling with her unit into the trenches and since Taylor is more concerned over the fact that he's practically bleeding out all over the place, he settles on something in-between.<p>

"Thank god," he hears Doc mutter before his oldest friend waves to the young woman. "Wash! Over here!" There is dirt and blood smeared across her face, strands of midnight-colored hair have escaped her pony tail but the way she holds her head high belies her tired appearance and the unbidden thought that he has never laid eyes on something this beautiful flickers across Taylor's mind (he ignores the underlying guilt (his wife) that comes with the notion and pretends it's delirium that has weakened his mind).

That is until she falls to her knees at his side and follows Doc's direct order to tend to Taylor's wound without deigning to look at his face first or uttering a single word. He pushes aside the pang of disappointment at being disregarded like that, lets annoyance take the lead instead and tries to sit up, determined to give them a piece of his mind but Doc has got a secure hold on his upper body and pins him to the ground.

It doesn't stop Taylor from protesting though. "What? Doc, you can't be serio-"

"Taylor. Do you want to live?" Doc lifts an eyebrow and squeezes his shoulder tightly, reminding him once more who's in charge here when it comes to patching up the soldiers.

"I am not going to let some fresh recru-"

"Corporal." Her voice is soft and yet firm, a flash of steel beneath black velvet, sending a shiver down his spine and Taylor forgets what he's complaining about in the first place.

"What?"

"Corporal Washington. The damn best medic I ever had the pleasure of training. Isn't that right, Wash?" Pride and genuine admiration sounds in Doc's voice and Taylor expects the woman in question to blush at the compliment or at least act like a woman usually does if she's being praised but she does neither.

"If you say so, sir," is all she says while continuing to concentrate on his injury, poking and probing the torn edges and when a particular painful jab makes him jerk and hiss, Taylor suspects it's her way of getting back at him for his comment. She absently brushes aside a wisp of hair that has fallen into her face and his hand itches to reach out, to rub it between his fingertips, to find out if it's as soft as it looks. Another impulse that surely stems from blood loss and pain coursing through his body (at least that's what he tells himself).

Wash finally finishes her examination and starts to pull out the med kit, promoting Doc to ask her what she thinks.

"It will take at least sixty, but probably closer to seventy stitches," she answers and Taylor can't stop the snort from escaping him at that ridiculous number and the amount of precious _time_ putting them in will take, time he does not want to waste on pretty stitches. He opens his mouth to tell her exactly that but then she meets his eyes for the first time and suddenly he's drowning in shades of amber and gold, burning with a glow that cuts right through him, setting his own soul on fire.

"You are not going to stay here once I've stitched you up. You will dive right back into the battle raging out there because you don't want to your men to fight alone. You will not care about your wound but if I don't put that many stitches into you, it will tear open at the first hit you take and you will be back here again. It is your choice. Either a quick job or you take the sixty," she tells him flatly and if Taylor wonders how such a young woman can know him better than his men or his wife when they haven't even exchanged more than a handful of words.

The corner of his lips turn up and he holds her gaze as he nods at her. "I'll take the seventy, Corporal." He doesn't intend for his voice to be this husky or quiet but when he catches sight of the slight blush beneath the grime and blood on Wash's face, the man in him is fascinated by it and suddenly, the desire to find out what could make that blush deepen flares strongly in him.

She covers her reaction by rolling her eyes at him before she ducks her head and starts the process of stitching him up with nimble fingers, every of her moves quick but precise, almost painless and watching her lulls him, the sound of gunfire and the smell of smoke fading away until all the remains is their breathing and a faint scent of wild roses.

They are not aware of Doc's knowing gaze as he observes his oldest friend and his best medic, a sad smile on his lips as he thinks about what's lying ahead of them.

Love is a battlefield and theirs won't be different, they are both warriors and times are difficult enough without such a complication like love thrown in but somehow Doc is certain they will make it even if it takes years. One day, they will have their chance, not their first maybe but definitely their second.

Maybe it will be even in a place that's not polluted and dying but blooming with life and hope.

(Over a decade later a request comes through, his medical expertise is needed in Terra Nova and it doesn't surprise Doc to see Taylor's and Wash's names on the request form. He never stopped keeping tabs on them, knows the hell they both went through and yet they've only come out stronger at the end.

He watches them over the years in Terra Nova, the unbreakable bond they share, two halves of a whole as he likes to call them, but it pains him to see them holding back, never crossing that invisible line.

Doctor Shannon, quite the feisty lady she is, has a similar opinion of his two stubborn friends and they are almost tempted to lock them into an examination room but then the mess with Lucas, the Phoenix Group and Wash's near-death happens and the decision is taken out of their hands.

The moment Carter brings Wash back to the colony, alive but bruised, Taylor locks her and himself into that room and when they leave it hours later, Doc knows things have finally changed.

The memory of the beautiful shade of red tinging Wash's cheeks and the content smile on Taylor's lips will stay with him forever.)


	11. Dress Eyes Forget Decision NC17

**Prompt:** Taylor/Wash - Dress/Eyes/Forget/Decision  
><strong>Fill for:<strong> bellakitse/morganel/sky_kiss/bellebby  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 2048  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance/Angst  
><strong>Summary:<strong> The green-eyed monster inside him reals its ugly head and he almost realizes too late that it's destroying whatever future he might have with Wash.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for the prompts Dress/Eyes/Forget/Decision in the Friday's One Word Fic Challenge - Week 3. No spoilers.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.

* * *

><p>The amber liquid slides smoothly down his throat and Taylor wishes, like he's done so often in the past, that it still would be like the very first time he drank whiskey. A fire racing through his body, leaving behind nothing but burned nerves and a numb mind.<p>

Then at least he can pretend that the burning sensation stems from the alcohol and not the feeling he gets as he watches Wash being touched in a decidedly more-than-friends (he avoids the word 'romantic') way by that man.

That man being Liam Doles, ex-military, part of the tenth pilgrimage and a damn good doctor, Taylor grudgingly admits. Of course, that meant the two would find something to talk about but he never thought it would go further than simple camaraderie but the hand on Wash's waist says otherwise.

Pale eyes narrow to mere slits as said hand slips down an inch, then another, curving around her hip and its new position sends the message loud and clear. Taylor grits his teeth, the hold on his drink tightening, as she leans into the man at her side, her black dress shifting with the move. There is absolutely nothing indecent about the attire she choose for the festival, it's a simple evening dress, and yet the soft material manages to emphasize the fact that a beautiful, desirable woman is underneath the tough Lieutenant exterior.

When Doles bends his head to whisper into Wash's ear, eliciting a warm smile from her in response, Taylor's self-control finally snaps, like the glass cracking under the pressure of his hand. It falls from his fingers, the dull sound as it hits the ground is swallowed by the music and noise around him, but he pays no attention to it or anything else. His focus is solely on his Lieutenant.

And there it is again. _His_. His second-in, his Lieutenant, his Wash. It's irrational, _he _is being irrational, walking a fine line here.

When he first heard the rumors of them seeing each other outside of work, he believed it was as friends but then it turned into dates and he experienced something that he hadn't felt in a very long time – red, hot, all-consuming jealousy. It was then he realized that he had taken her for granted all those years and thought, they would forever remain in this place between friends and something more. It suited his cowardly side, the one that was too afraid to take the leap, afraid that a young, vibrant woman like Wash could never belong to an old and broken warhorse like him.

But now, when push comes to shove, when he's confronted with the actual possibility of losing her to another man, his possessive nature takes the reins. The hunter in him rises to the surface, his face and body growing tight and sharp-edged as he steps out of the shadows and towards the small group standing under one of the tarps, never letting the woman in front of him out of his sight.

Wash senses him approaching immediately and she stiffens, moving just an inch to the left, out of Doles' embrace. Something primal surges through Taylor at her reaction, the impassive mask on his face slipping for a split second to reveal a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Neither Doles nor Doctor Shannon notice the subtle change in Wash's posture but Shannon does and Taylor has got to hand it to the man. The cop slowly turns around to place his drink on a table nearby while simultaneously checking the crowd discreetly for anything out of the ordinary, his stance relaxing as he spies Taylor coming their way but then he does a double take and a hint of panic crosses his face.

"Lieutenant. A word."

Four pairs of eyes turn to him but he's only interested in one. To the outward observer her gaze is calm, collected but he catches a glimpse of anger, frustration, and, if he's not mistaken, a tinge of defiance, bordering on insubordination, as if she's actually toying with the idea of dismissing him.

"Is there a problem?" Taylor doesn't acknowledge Doles' inquiry nor the man himself and it is Shannon who quickly disarms the situation before it becomes hazardous, instinctively knowing that innocent bystanders better not get caught in the crossfire between the Commander and the Lieutenant.

"Oh, it's probably just the same issue with the fence we had earlier. Nothing to worry about. I'm sure, Taylor and Wash can handle it, right?" Without waiting for confirmation from either of them, Shannon rambles on, effectively diverting Doles' attention. "Say, Doles, you said something about a recognition system..."

"Let's walk the perimeter." Taylor inclines his head, lips curling into a feral smile, and it's enough to make Wash loose control for a moment, her eyes flashing as she glares at him. "Of course, sir," she bites out, the icy shards in her tone doing nothing to cool down the flames of want and need inside him.

She removes herself from Doles, who lets Wash go without so much as a glance, and when she brushes past Taylor, the scent of wild roses wraps around him. It's calling to him and he turns with her, following her close behind as they leave the circle of lights and step into the night, his hand settling low on her back. The contact, even through her dress, causes her to shudder, a telltale sign that she isn't as unaffected by him as she likes to pretend, and he growls low.

At the sound, her muscles tense beneath his palm and they have barely reached the crates at the west side of the colony, close to the fence, when her temper finally gets the better of her. Wash whirls around, slaps his hand away and it doesn't take his training to see the way her body's humming with pent-up emotions, just waiting to strike.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She hisses at him furiously, looking magnificent with her unbound and tousled hair. The sight of her claws at him and his lids drop to hide the intense expression in his eyes but she has always been able to read him like an open book.

"Oh, don't you dare. Not now. Not when I _finally _find the strength to try and move on," Wash snarls, voice filled with bitter anger, traces of old pain in her words. "Not now, when I think I can finally learn to stop loving you." Her admission is nothing more than a whisper but the harsh reality of what he's done to her hits him like a sledgehammer, sucker punches him, and suddenly, Taylor feels ashamed. Had he really believed, he was doing her a favor by ignoring what's between them, by wallowing in self-pity while she was waiting in vain for him to pull his head out of the proverbial prehistoric sand? How stupid and egoistical of him.

He knows, he should say something, anything, but words fail him and all he can do is stare at Wash, this fierce woman, who never left his side, gave him everything, her life, her love, and expected nothing in return.

Giving him a weary smile, she takes a step back. "I think, I'm gonna call it a night, sir. I am...tired." She doesn't mean just tonight, their confrontation, she's talking about _them_, and if he's letting her go now, he's not only going to lose the woman but also his friend.

It is her actually turning away from him that snaps Taylor out of his stupor and he catches her slender wrist in a firm yet gentle grip, drawing her back to him. His other hand tangles in her hair as his mouth comes down on hers, swallowing her surprised gasp, and for a few heartbeats everything is perfect but then Wash yanks herself free and shoves him back.

"I swear, if this is some kind of-" She's trembling, her amber eyes ablaze with the fire that's been missing and something soars inside him.

"It is not," Taylor tells her quietly, reaching out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear before he slowly trails his fingers down her flushed cheek to her full, wet lips, stroking them with the ball of his thumb.

"I love you, Alicia." His whisper is the barest thread of a sound and she goes still at his words, her breath hitching. He puts everything on the line, lays himself bare before her, all that he is, his soul, his heart, it's hers to take. "I'm so sorry for what I've put you through and maybe I am too late but I _love_ you. Even if you don't lov-"

"I lied." A spark of hope blooms in his chest as Wash covers his hand with hers and laces their fingers together. "I could never stop loving you."

This time, she comes willingly, her arms circling his waist, as he tugs her into an embrace, holding her to him tightly. His blood pulses through his veins, his breathing roughening, and he grasps her nape as he rests is forehead against hers.

"You realize that I won't let you go, not now." The fingers of his other hand splay low on her back again and when she presses herself closer, her soft breasts brushing his chest, Taylor feels himself harden, straining against the zipper of his fatigues.

"Then don't." A shiver runs through her as she moans raggedly, moist air tickling his skin, her fingers twisting into his shirt, and he's lost. He claims her lips in a hard, hungry kiss, but she's right there with him, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip in response, and then he's drowning in the taste of her.

He twists them around, pushes her up against the crate, brings his hips to hers and Wash arches sharply into him as he does. Every muscle in his body goes rigid with tension as he places a hand on her thigh, calloused fingers against smooth skin, inching them up and under her dress, and his eyes darken further with arousal when Wash cannot contain the tremor that follows in the wake of his touch, her head tipping back, looking at him through half-lidded eyes.

When he finally cups her between her legs, she gasps for air, and he drops his head to her shoulder to smother his own strangled groan. God, she is so wet, so hot and silky, and all his. His fingers slide into her slickness, again and again, keeping a steady pressure, and soon she writhing beneath him, thrusting against the length of him, and he kisses her once more, drives his tongue into her mouth.

Her nails rake up his back, dig into the muscled flesh, and Taylor revels in her surrender to him, in every moan, every whimper, and then he's pressing down hard on her bundle of nerves one last time, pulls his mouth from hers to sink his teeth into her shoulder, and Wash comes undone, cries out his name as she shudders through the throes of her climax.

Bracing his weight on one forearm against the crate, he cradles the back of her head in his other hand as she sags weakly against his chest, leaning her face on his shoulder, their heavy breathing slowly returning to normal.

"Are you all right?" He murmurs, worried he might have pushed things too far, but Wash eases his troubled mind as she pulls back to look at him, her lips curving into a smile. "Yes, I am." She runs the back of her fingers along his cheek, over his beard, and he turns his face into her caress. "Better than all right."

The feelings sweeping through him steal his breath and need flares up inside him again. He takes her hand and starts towards the housing units, dragging a laughing Wash behind him. Her laugh turns into a moan as he smirks at her over his shoulder, the heat in his eyes promising all sorts of wicked things and once they've reached his house, the door falling shut behind them, everything around them dissolves.


End file.
